Hope In The Air
by sdbubbles
Summary: "There's hope in the air; there's hope in the water; but no hope for me, your last serving daughter." - "Hope In The Air" by Laura Marling. When Harry presents himself to Voldemort during the Battle of Hogwarts, Narcissa is forced to take a risk in lying to the Dark Lord.


**A/N: This is for the "If You Dare" Challenge, yet again. The prompt was "Spoken Lies." It didn't go quite the way I wanted it to, but it also isn't going to get any better, so I'm going to quit while I'm ahead.**

 **This is basically the period between Harry showing up to let Voldemort kill him, and Narcissa and Lucius running after Draco when the battle starts up again, but from Narcissa's point of view.**

 **The song I've used is "Hope In The Air" by Laura Marling; it's a really wonderful song.**

 **Sarah x**

* * *

 _There is a man that I know,_  
 _Seventeen years, he never spoke._  
 _Guessed he had nothing to say,_  
 _He opened his mouth on Judgement Day._

Until now, he hadn't seemed so insane. He had never spoken like this before. Never had Narcissa Malfoy doubted, before now, that Lord Voldemort was fighting for a better world. But now, she heard in his voice that it was not the wizarding world's fate that drove Voldemort to kill the boy – for Harry Potter was still only a seventeen-year-old boy – but his own.

And as Potter walked into the clearing, Narcissa looked at Voldemort, and then at Potter and at Voldemort again. The man's face was filled with fear, while the boy walked to his death. Yes, Voldemort was frightened, but only for his own skin. Narcissa, on the other hand, had a son, the same age as Potter, missing in the castle. No idea if he was alive or dead. But it was _Voldemort_ who was scared.

All the years he had power, he had given the same mantra: _this is for the good of our world._

But it wasn't. In all the years she had been associated with Voldemort, she had never see him display his own obsessive self-centred nature.

Until very recently, she had honestly believed in her Lord's intention to help purify the magical world; she still believed he wanted that, but it was not his priority. His priority was himself. It always had been. She had just not seen it until Lucius had come back and Voldemort had been cruel to him, and to herself and Draco.

It was not good for her, or for Draco, to stay caught up with Voldemort. He didn't care about their safety, and they would not last long if he was defeated. When he was defeated. Yes, Potter was meant to kill him, and he himself was about to be killed, but Voldemort's downfall was always going to be himself. Because, now, when it really mattered, he had already lost Narcissa's loyalty. Draco's too, if his actions the night that bunch of dimwits took Potter, Weasley and Granger to the mansion were anything to go by.

 _I listened with all of my might,_  
 _but was scared by the look in his eyes._  
 _Like he'd already lost the fight,_  
 _and there was no hope ever in sight._

He spoke, but she didn't hear. She listened, yes, she listened intently, but she couldn't hear. She was too preoccupied with the look in his eyes. Because, Narcissa couldn't be certain that Voldemort really believed Potter could be killed. It was in his eyes, written on his face – Potter had lived once, so what was to stop him surviving again?

And Narcissa wasn't sure she wanted Voldemort dominating her world. Dominating her family. Breaking her, Lucius and Draco down bit by bit, all because Lucius managed to make one blunder. She didn't want Draco put through this any longer. If he was still alive, of course, which she was beginning to doubt.

Narcissa gazed at Potter, who was standing there with no light in his eyes. He had truly come here to die. For the first time, she found she didn't want Potter dead. She wanted things to go back to the way they were on Draco's first day of school, when people's opinions didn't cost her son his life, and a leader's agenda didn't put a whole society in jeopardy. Because, after all, if left with only pure-bloods, there would only be a handful of wizards left, and all would be inter-related. Narcissa couldn't think of a pure-blood family she wasn't linked to through blood or marriage. Most of them were mad, too, her own sister being the prime example. There was no way she could deny that Bellatrix had hugely psychopathic tendencies. A sadist. Even her parents, her aunt and uncle, most of her cousins, were slightly unhinged.

But then, she remembered, she was related to people like Sirius. Like Andromeda. Like Nymphadora. Like Remus Lupin, even if only by marriage. And their baby, who had been born mere days ago. What kind of a world was she allowing her great-nephew to come into? Not one she would have brought Draco into, if she had the choice. They were fighting for the world to be fair and free and empty of cruelty – everything she wanted to give Draco.

Was she on the wrong side? Was she supporting the wrong man? The man, who, given the opportunity, would wipe out most of the magical community? Who placed his own life above all others? A narcissist?

How could she be better off on his side when he didn't care what happened to her? Even Potter, who fought the same battles as Voldemort, avoiding killing if it was humanly possible to do so. Voldemort killed for _fun_. Bellatrix killed for _fun_. And because of that, they had already lost their fight.

 _No hope in the air,_  
 _No hope in the water,_  
 _Not even for me,_  
 _Your last serving daughter._

The green light filled the forest, and she felt the last hope for her world evaporate into nothing. There was nothing left now. Voldemort was going to run the world into the ground. Even those who were loyal to him were absolutely terrified of him. How could anyone _not_ be scared of him?

Dementors weren't the only thing that pulled everything remotely beautiful out of the world. Voldemort was doing it too. That gold statue in the Ministry of Magic had been beautiful, and what had he replaced it with? Oppression. Ugliness. Despair. Looking at it from the other side, she felt that despair; it was Voldemort. It was all him. She couldn't even find her son because he would not allow it. He knew nothing of what it was to love a person. Narcissa wasn't even sure he _wanted_ to love, or to be loved.

Narcissa, who had served him loyally with all her ability – aside from going to Severus last summer – was not allowed to see her son. She didn't want to serve someone who would willingly, happily, shatter her family. He might turn Draco into a monster. Draco, by her own admission, was spoiled. She had always spoiled him. He had the tendency to be a bit of a brat. But he was human. He had tried to spare Potter, hadn't he?

Narcissa couldn't let Voldemort turn her boy into a monster, regardless of how proud Bellatrix was of her nephew's selection for the task of committing murder. He wasn't a murderer, because she hadn't brought him up to have that in him. Lucius had tried, on occasion, to undermine her efforts, but had never succeeded.

She didn't care how long she had been on this side of the war; Voldemort was _never_ going to turn her son into a killer.

 _Why fear death, be scared of living,_  
 _Our hearts are small and ever thinning._  
 _There is no hope ever of winning,_  
 _Oh, why fear death, be scared of living._

She gazed at Potter, dead on the forest floor, and almost envied him. Voldemort was terrified of death, but Narcissa wasn't quite sure why. It looked like a relief, not to be fearful or anxious. Not to be wondering what Draco was doing, or where her was, or if he was alive. A loved one – her son, her husband – dying was a frightening prospect. Her own death would have been easy. Living was much more painful than lying there dead.

She heard the order to check the body, and approached Potter with a sense of finality. It was done. The world was doomed to Voldemort's reign. Her family was doomed to the same, at much closer proximity.  
Her finger's lifted Potter's eyelids; his pupils did not change, but that wasn't a sure sign of death, since the forest was dark anyway. So she placed her hand on her chest, and had to remind herself not to open her mouth. Potter's heart was still beating. He was alive. _How_? A second time, he had survived.

His skin was warm, his heart beating fast, and he was very much alive.

Her own heart started to race, and started to grow, for though there was no hope for the world, there was hope for her wish to find Draco.

What did this mean? Voldemort wasn't about to give in, and he wasn't going to be fooled by Potter's playing dead forever. But Potter must have had a plan, or he would have let himself up by now.

 _I have seen men provoked,_  
 _And I have seen lives revoked,_  
 _And I looked at my life and choked._  
 _From there no more ever I spoke._

She thought on it. All this time, Voldemort had been taunting Draco and Lucius. Twisting Bellatrix even further than she already was. Narcissa found her sister even more deranged now than when she had first escaped Azkaban, and it was her need to be close to Voldemort that was doing it. Bellatrix always had been a bit mad, but never like this.

How many people had she watched Voldemort murder? How people had she watched Bellatrix and Rudolphus murder? How many lives had this war, this regime, cost? Yes, she didn't approve of Muggle-borns, or Muggles, but she also didn't approve of the Death Eaters' tactics any longer. They were destroying themselves, taking her and her family with them. All her life, she had gone with it, because it was the family values embodied, and it was what she had always been taught.

Yet, they had taught Andromeda the same thing, and she had gone the other way. Was it too late for Narcissa to break away, just as Andromeda had done?

She had no right to sully her sister's name for marrying a Muggle-born; what had she done to her own family? Lucius was cruel to Draco in many ways when he was a child, driving him to prove himself for affection, driving him to everything he had ever done wrong, Draco had a mind of his own, of course, but it didn't help that Lucius had always been breathing down his neck.

And now, she didn't know where Draco was. She had lost her son, and she feared it was forever, and all because she was holding her loyalty to Voldemort. Only now did she realised she did so out of fear rather than faithfulness.

 _I can't give up that quick._  
 _My life is a candle and a wick._  
 _You can put it out but you can't break it down,_  
 _in the end we are waiting to be lit._

Was there any chance she could get to Draco if she went along with whatever mad plan Potter had in mind? Could she close her mind to Voldemort if she lied to him? She could practice Occlumency, but she was aware of just how skilled a Legilimens he was.

But what else could he take from her? Her life? He could kill her, yes, but would she care if it saved Draco? She didn't need to think about the answer of that question. Of course she would die for Draco. It was the only thing left for Voldemort to strip her of that she actually cared about. And if Voldemort won this, Narcissa knew he was going to take her son and twist the boy, Warp him until he was a hybrid of his aunt and his father – insane and power-hungry.

The only way to break Narcissa, truly destroy her, was to take her son from her. Death couldn't be undone, but any other punishment Voldemort dished out to her could be dealt with. She would survive it, because she knew that Voldemort knew Draco would never join him if he killed Narcissa. Draco would never remain loyal to his mother's killed, just as she would disown his.

 _There's hope in the air,_  
 _There's hope in the water,_  
 _But sadly not me,_  
 _Your last serving daughter._

So instead of telling Voldemort that Potter had survived yet again, she lowered her head to Potter's ear. "Is Draco alive?" she whispered gently. "Is he in the castle?"

He held her breath for a moment, hoping Potter might risk his façade to answer her. She when he breathed a single word, "Yes," Narcissa sighed and clutched his chest tightly. Part of her was still resentful of him for this trouble and his role in it, but the other half of her was grateful that he had reassured her that her son was alive.

Narcissa steeled herself. Closed her mind. Emptied it. Cleaned it. Drained it. Made a vacuum.

"He is dead," she informed Voldemort, making sure she didn't think anything else in his presence.

It didn't take long for Voldemort to place the Cruciatus Curse on Potter, but she had expected it, and she knew Potter had too. Voldemort wasn't one for allowing others their dignity. Whatever Potter's plan was, though, it wasn't to be implemented in the forest. Not here. She was grudgingly impressed by how he did not react in the slightest to being tortured. He was waiting for something.

She glanced at her sister. There was to be more to this battle, and Narcissa wasn't really expecting Bellatrix to survive it. She was too happy to kill, too obvious about her pleasure in it, to be left alone by the families of those she had murdered. Even Bellatrix Lestrange couldn't survive the barrage that she was bound to receive, sooner or later.

 _A friend is a friend forever,_  
 _And a good one will never leave, never._  
 _But you've have never been south of what blows off your mouth,_  
 _You will never understand, ever._

Silent, she watched Hagrid pick up Potter's body, too distressed to know the difference between a beating heart and a still one. The idiot probably thought it was his own hammering heart he was feeling.

Moronic as Hagrid was, though, she could not question his loyalty to Potter. The half-giant loved the boy; from what Draco told her, it was Hagrid who had dealt with Potter from the day he got the letter. Hagrid seemed to have stuck by Potter, who clearly returned the favour. Not just Potter, but Weasley and Granger, too.

That was the difference. Potter had friends. People who loved him. Voldemort was loved by a few, revered by many and feared by most. Lunatics like Bellatrix really did love Voldemort, but more often than not, it was fear that drove the Death Eaters to serve him as best they could.

Voldemort clearly didn't want friends. He wanted servants. Narcissa Malfoy was nobody's servant.

Could it be that Voldemort mocked Lily Potter's actions that night in Godric's Hollow because he wasn't capable of understanding it? Wasn't he able to understand that a mother was more than willing to die for the love of their child? Maybe he didn't understand love at all. Maybe he didn't understand humanity. Maybe he wasn't human at all anymore. And if he couldn't comprehend it now, when his followers were literally dying for him, then he never would.

 _You speak minds handed down to you,_  
 _By the lies handed down by your truth,_  
 _And your angels will dance at your will,_  
 _Will mask your scrambling youth._

The thing was, Narcissa believe Voldemort did what she had done: played out the wishes of their ancestors. However, they had just diverged. Narcissa didn't care about that anymore. She still didn't like Muggle-borns, though she couldn't explain why, but she wasn't willing to kill. Could the Mudbloods help who their parents were, any more than she or Voldemort or Sirius or Andromeda could?

No.

And all this about them _stealing_ magic...there was no way Granger stole her abilities. Draco had told her that girl had spent six solid years with her nose in a book.

Narcissa stole a glance at Voldemort; he looked weaker. Determined, jubilant, triumphant...but weak. Old. And he _was_ old, of course – it was over fifty years ago that he set the Basilisk on that girl. But all these servants held him up, and she couldn't help but wonder how he would cope without them, even if he refused to admit his dependence on them all.

 _I forgave you your short comings,_  
 _And ignored your childish behaviour._  
 _Laid a kiss on your head,_  
 _And before I left said, "Stay away from fleeting failure."_

As for Potter, well, he was an idiot. He was arrogant, as arrogant as his father before him, just as Severus had said for the past seven years. He was immature in many ways, just like his godfather, but he was fighting.

It wasn't worth holding a grudge against him when he was going to save Draco's life and his sanity by distracting Voldmeort long enough to giver time to get her son and husband and run.

She _wanted_ Potter to succeed, though. Otherwise Voldemort would only track her down, and then he really would kill Draco. Or model him into the perfect Death Eater.

 _There's hope in the air,_  
 _There's hope in the water,_  
 _But sadly not me,_  
 _Your last serving daughter._

Though Hagrid did not know it yet, there was still hope for him. There was hope for them all, Mudbloods, blood traitors, goblins, members of the Order of the Phoenix. They still had their crown jewel, the one who had some idea of how to remove the enemy.

Narcissa, she had the prospect of tracking Draco down and running, as soon as possible. If Voldemort won again, she did not intend to stick around to celebrate. She wasn't staying here only to be destroyed.

She stared at her sister yet again, who was excited, to say the least.

When did their family start setting out to kill one another? In two years, Bellatrix had just murdered both her cousin and her niece. Her own family. Had the shoe been on the other foot, so to speak, and they had killed Rudolphus, or even Draco, Bellatrix would have been enraged. But Sirius and Nymphadora…they never set out to kill for the sake of doing so. They definitely did not set out to murder their own family.

Who was Bellatrix? What went on in that mind of hers? Did she really expect the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix, or the Weasley family, to whom Nymphadora had been close, to let her be after that? Did she expect Granger and the Weasley girl to take that lying down?

They reached the castle, where Narcissa was unsurprised to find most of the fighters gathering around them. The shrieks of anguish did not surprise her, either, though she did feel a little guilty when McGonagall opened her mouth – always such a strong woman, and to whom Narcissa owed much of her knowledge as a witch, whether or not she cared to admit as much.

 _Pick up your rope, Lord, sling it to me,_  
 _If we are to battle I must not be weak._  
 _And give us your strength, world, and your food and your water,_  
 _Oh, I am your saviour, your last serving daughter._

As Voldemort set about the remaining fighters in the vicinity, laying the law down to them, Narcissa fought not to panic when she couldn't see Draco in the throng. He probably was there, for she did not believe Potter would have lied to her if he believed Draco dead, but she was in too anxious a state to pick him out of the crowd.

So instead she fought to keep her mind quiet, to keep Voldemort from hearing in her thoughts that Potter was still alive. To let him see it at this moment would ruin her chances of finding Draco.

It was exhausting, keeping her mind so carefully controlled, when all she wanted to do was run and find Draco. She had betrayed Voldemort, but felt she had done the right thing; after all, he was his own worst enemy. He was short-sighted, so intent on killing Potter that he forgot about the reasons he gave for doing so. He was only out for himself.

She watched him taunt Neville Longbottom, curse him and torture him, and found that it no longer held any enjoyment for her. The boy was fighting, just like her, just like Draco, for the same end.

It all happened at once.

The giant barged in.

Centaurs followed him, shooting arrows wildly.

Longbottom picked up a sword and beheaded Nagini.

Potter disappeared.

Hagrid roared.

Battle commenced.

Narcissa ran.

 _There's hope in the air,_  
 _There's hope in the water,_  
 _But sadly not me,_  
 _Your last serving daughter._

She leaped through the chaos, searching madly for her son. "Draco!" she shouted over and over again. As she ran, she passed several duels. The other Weasley twin – was it Fred or George? She never knew – and a friend were at Dolohov. Hagrid lobbed Dolohov into a wall.

She skirted Arthur and Percy Weasley, and Thicknesse, who was on the losing end; Greyback was falling to Longbottom and Ron Weasley.

Bellatrix – the insane idiot – was fighting the Weasley girl. There was no way Molly Weasley was going to allow that, and Narcissa knew her sister was now a dead woman walking.

Aberforth Dumbledore had Rookwood Stunned.

Voldemort had Horace Slughorn, Minerva McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt to deal with and, though they could not kill him, they were not allowing him time to get at Potter before Potter got at him.

While Narcissa continued to shout and search for her son, she heard a scream of, "NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!" from Molly Weasley and there and then said a silent goodbye to her sister. She had gone one step too far this time. Bellatrix always had underestimated how far a mother would go to protect her child. Narcissa had thought she would have learned this when Alice Longbottom allowed Bellatrix to torture her for information about Neville, but no. She was not capable, and it had now cost her her life.

 _There's hope in the air,_  
 _There's hope in the water,_  
 _But no hope for me,_  
 _Your last serving daughter._

In a corner, off the Hall, she spotted Draco. He was quite obviously terrified, unable to join either side, and Narcissa threw her arms around him.

She could feel him shaking slightly, and understood that he was feeling just as she was - that this fight just wasn't worth dying for. That Voldemort wasn't worth dying for, and that he was cruel and inhumane. Narcissa had no other way to redeem herself than to love her son. In every other aspect, she was damned. She had allowed too much pain to happen before her, and been too weak to fight what she no longer was loyal to.

There was no hope for her.

But there was hope for Draco.

Vaguely aware that Lucius was with her, she pulled him into the embrace, and said, "Hide."


End file.
